Cinderella is a Con Artist
by Cat In My Fridge
Summary: L was a most interesting child indeed. One-shot.


**Author's Notes:** Extremely enjoyable to write! No warnings (except for this being my first foray into the DN category..), no ownership rights but full of adorable child!L. :-)

**+ Cinderella is a Con Artist +  
+ A Death Note One-Shot +**

"Sister Melinda, I have come to a startling conclusion. Yes, I may even go so far as to say it is shocking, really - indeed, the realization may be stark enough to change my perception of the entire world as I know it."

Sister Melinda remembered the day little Lawliet had come to the orphanage as clearly as it had only been a week ago, when in fact it had been five long years since the squalling bundle had been abandoned at the foot of their church. Five long years during which the once so plump and shiny cheeks of the infant had withered into sleek cheeks that shone sickly sallow under the moonlight.

Five years it had been, and Sister Melinda had not been able to shake off the feeling that this kid was... different. She had seen the faces with which the other sisters and the priests looked at the child and if she hadn't known that it was impossible for a child of his intellect not to notice, she would have clasped her hands over the boy's small white ears every time she could heard the hateful whispers bouncing off the holy walls of the orphanage.

He had been sick and severely malnourished at the time he had been found, looking like he was balancing on the line that separated life and death like an elegant circus artist on a rope far above the ground. As much as she rejected the other nuns' resentment at the child, she could not deny that a part of very well understood just why exactly the child ignited such fear in the hearts of the adults of the covenant.

The boy, all things considered, looked like he still hadn't yet decided which side of the rope he wanted to fall down into.

"Lawliet," Sister Melinda greeted, spinning around on her chair and removing her eyeglasses, smiling despite the chill that scuttled down her spine. "How lovely to see you. Have you been getting along better with the other children?"

Something moved across the child's face, his lips setting into a tight line. "You haven't listened to me, Sister," the child said with an edge of accusation in his voice, and when he stepped forward, she could see that he was clutching a book between his white, spindly hands. "I said I have discovered something most unsettling."

She was getting worried now - while unusual behaviour was a daily occurrence with the young Lawliet, rarely had she seen him this upset, and she hurried over the boy, kneeling in front of him. He was ridiculously small and frail; nothing but two gigantic, wet black pools swimming in a sea of stark whiteness. "What's the matter, Lawliet? What's upsetting you?" Her tone was gentle, or as gentle as it could be; as gentle as she _managed_ staring into that face out of which intelligence blazed in hot bewilderment.

Lawliet said nothing for a while, biting his lower lip. What he eventually did say was so ridiculous that Sister Melinda, for a brief moment only, found herself wavering between snorting and breaking into laughter.

"I think the prince was conned by Cinderella," the child said in a serious voice, looking troubled as he did so, eyebrows slid together into a frown.

"What?" Sister Melinda repeated, amusement tickling at her spine and curling her lips into a maternal smile. "Child, what are you saying..."

"No, no!" Lawliet said, shaking his head so vehemently his black tresses whipped his skin. "You don't understand, Sister Melinda. This has progressed beyond the stage of mere suspicion - I am 90% certain of Cinderella's guilt." The child fumbled with the heavy fairytale book - a book Sister Melinda had given the boy for his 5th birthday, since despite knowing it was not going to challenge the boy in the slightest, she had still hesitated at giving a five-year-old Tolstoy novels for his birthday. The frail boy flipped the book open, pointing to the story of Cinderella. "Here is the evidence," the child announced proudly, looking the most excited and animated the woman could remember seeing him. "Right here!" He stabbed at the pages with precision, as though a seasoned warrior sinking a dagger right into a still-beating heart.

The woman pushed her reading glasses up her thin nose and leaned down to read the text.

""When it was Cinderella's turn to try on the shoe, it fit perfectly,"" the woman read. "So she -"

"No," the boy interrupted, again shaking his head and staring at her out of those unsettling eyes in what was almost a plea. "The evidence is right there."

Sister Melinda smiled thinly. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow, Lawliet. How does the shoe fitting Cinderella prove anything?"

Something flitted past in the boy's eyes, like a shadow scurrying along a brightly lit wall. "That's the thing, Sister Melinda. If you look carefully, it does, in fact, _not_ say that the shoe fit Cinderella."

"What are you talking about?" The woman asked, feeling her patience slowly seeping out of her as she watched the adamant child.

Young Lawliet, though, was imperturbable. "It does not say it fit Cinderella - it says it fit her _perfectly_."

"Yes, I suppose it does," she admitted, re-reading the lines. Then she looked back up at the child, maternal smile folding her face. "But how does that prove anything?"

There it was - that smile, a true smile, but one so... _smug_ it had absolutely no business appearing on the face of a child. "Then, can you tell me how it is possible to accidentally lose a shoe that fits _perfectly_?"

The woman opened her mouth to give a reply, realized she had none and closed her mouth again.

"All evidence points to Cinderella deliberately having dropped the shoe at the dance in order for the prince to find her, for, as we both know, and I have just confirmed with your reaction, there is no logical way how anyone would lose a shoe that did not only fit, but fit _perfectly_," The boy droned on in a low, monotone voice, his bug-like eyes flexed intently upon the woman's face. "This is conclusive enough to assume with confidence that the act of the shoe-dropping on the night of the dance was actually a well-thought of ploy by Cinderella in order to enthrall the prince and - yes, indeed, to put it more bluntly - _con_ the prince into espousing her. Cinderella should thus receive just punishment for her crimes in the area of manipulation and pretence, and the marriage should, for all intents and purposes, be nullified."

The nun blinked.

A look of concern slithered across the boy's face. "Do you not know agree with me, Sister? Have I missed other glaring evidence?" Challenge looming in his voice. "Or, do you wish to argue against my thesis and on behalf of Cinderella's innocence?"

The nun was still too floored to speak. First hints of fear were spiderwebbing across her face and when she finally found the presence of mind to speak again, it sounded forced even to her own ears. "No, Lawliet - I think you've made a very compelling argument indeed."

As pride bloomed on the child's milky white face, the woman got to her feet hastily, running one nervous hand through her graying hair. "I think you'd better go to bed, now, though," she informed the child with one pointed look out of the window, at the moon dangling in the sky like a bloated egg. "Go do your evening prayer and sleep."

Something like defiance sped across the child's face, gone too soon for the woman to discern - but then he nodded, his mess of black tresses that wouldn't ever let themselves be tamed no matter how often she subjected them to the pull of a hairbrush bobbing slightly with the motion. He turned on his heel, book still clutched in his hand and walked toward the door with his shoulder hunched over, all as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He stopped at the door, just shortly, sending her a tentative smile - then he was gone and the silence rushed in to replace him like water into a drowning person's lungs.

She sighed, sitting down on the chair and reaching for the telephone. She hesitated as she brought the receiver to her mouth, emotions and concern warring on her face. The conflicted expression never left her face even as she quickly punched in the numbers and waited for the line to connect.

"Hello?" She breathed, feeling her heart quickening in her chest. "Good evening, sir. Yes, it's me. Yes, a long time indeed." She swirled around on her chair, bringing a pen to her lips as her face distorted in concentration. "Listen, are you still looking for recruits for your house...?"


End file.
